


Still Silent Benediction

by Laurense_Arkenau



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Monsters, Physical Disability, Traumatic Recovery, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:51:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurense_Arkenau/pseuds/Laurense_Arkenau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of three, Ansel was hit by a lost driver along an abandoned stretch of highway. He lost all memories of his past but for one that haunts his nightmares. After decades of surgery and recovery, he is ready to put the past behind him. Then, like the lightning strike of fate, it finds him. Called to a small town, back down that long deserted road, he finds that myths and legend exist to this day. The citizens of the groves have strange customs and manners that seem stretched even for California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Swiftness Afoot

Ashay was not in her room. He checked everywhere, even under her bed and closet. She was not in the room.

She was hiding from him.

Today was her birthday and he wanted to play Hide Smiles with her. After, he would give her the picture he had drawn for her using the colors she got him for his birthday. Those were the better ones than his old ones. It was the best gift he had ever gotten and he wanted to show her how much. Ashay would like it, he knew.

His hand was tiny on the door handle as he tugged her bathroom door open. He had to check everywhere! Ma-ma was always telling him to check everywhere before he came to her. It wasn't his fault that someone would move his things. He left them in the places he knew and someone would always move it. Ashay was not his things, but she was always not in the same place.

Like today. Ashay was not in her bathroom, she was not in her bedroom, under the bed, or in the closet.

Huffing, he turned for the door and looked all the way across the room. He hadn't moved much, but he knew Ashay would know he had been here. She would know he was looking for her. He was careful, though. Ashay didn't like it when he triffled through her things. His Ashay was always telling him not to do that, to be good. She was nice when he was good.

He was about to head to his bedroom to check there again when he heard her. Ashay was laughing from far away. Smiling, he felt warm inside and giggled. She was giggling.

Ashay was hiding from him and knew he was looking for her!

Careful, on silent feet, he snuck across her room to the door. He did not touch it, but listened instead. Ear to the crack in the doorway, he heard her voice.

Whispering, Ashay was talking to someone. Her voice rose in pitch like when she was upset and was about to yell.

He frowned, something in his stomach twisting painfully. He tried to shrink a little and disappear. Maybe she was waiting for him and was angry he hadn't come. It was her birthday and he hadn't seen her all morning. Ashay liked to eat breakfast with him, she made the best toast and eggs.

Ashay cried out. Her voice angry and scared. Something was wrong!

Forgetting to be scared, he knew he had to save her. Ashay was his sister, brothers stood up for their sisters! Grabbing the door with both hands, he pulled it open and shoved it out of his way with a grunt. With it open all the way, he heard more than Ashay.

There was another voice, a man. He made low noises of pain as Ashay whimpered and whined. She was crying out in pain and there was no doubt this man was hurting her. He was hurting Ashay, but she was fighting back. His low groan filled the hall with a horrible echo.

She cried out again, then whimpered softly. She was losing the fight!

He looked about for something to defend his sister with. In the dark hall, there was only the closed doors of the bedroom. Ma-ma always told him to close them and he listened like a good boy. But, there, at the end of the hall, was the stand. Ashay's long umbrella was in it. The top was metal and it hurt when she smacked him with it. That would be his sword and he would stop the bad man!

Feet smacking across the wooden floor, he ran down the hall past Ma-ma's room, past his own door. He was heading for the stand when he heard Ashay screech like a stepped on cat. Tears burned at his eyes and he fought not to cry like a little baby. He was three last month, he would not be a baby! He would be a good brother and save Ashay!

He would save Ashay this time.

He reached the end of the hall some moments later and stopped at the stand. It stood behind the couch, protecting him from being seen. Ashay's umbrella was taller than him, but he could hold it. His hands were just big enough to go around the soft silky part and he jerked it up with a grunt. The umbrella came free without any trouble and he suddenly had it. Lowering it, he grabbed the handle and raised it over his head.

The couch blocked his view of the living room, so he had to run around it to save Ashay. With a battle cry, he launched himself around the corner.

There, in the middle of the floor, was Ashay. She was pinned to the floor, a man on top of her. They continued to fight as if they hadn't heard him. His hands held hers to either side of her head even as she fought to hit him. She was struggling to get free, but her feet kept slipping across the wooden floor. This close, their pained cries were almost like screams. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but a big bushy something covered most of his body.

He didn't care to find out what. Umbrella raised, he screamed at the man and swung it with all this strength!

The man glanced up at him just before the umbrella hit, his silver eyes focusing instantly on him. Then he screamed in pain as the metal tip slapped down hard across the top of his head. The bushy mess over his body shot out to either side, spreading like great bird wings. And that was what they were. 

The sight of them scared him so badly, that he dropped the umbrella. He took a step back but froze when the man looked him in the eyes.

The man screeched, baring his fanged teeth. His brown wings flared like a huge eagle.

"No!" Ashay broke free of the man's hold with her right hand, and grabbed his shoulder. "Do not touch him! He is not yours!" When the man only shrugged off her hold, she raised her head to see him. Tears had made her makeup run and the skin around them was dark black. "Parsi, run!"

Only years of obedience gave him the strength to listen to Ashay. She would be angry with him and he would be spanked if he did not listen. Spinning around, he rushed back behind the couch and kept going. The neighbors! Ma-ma always said to go to them when someone bad broke in! He heard the screeching man even as he ran through the kitchen, around the table, and out the open back door. It shouldn't have been open, but he didn't have time to think about it.

He had to get to the neighbors. They would be able to help and call Ma-ma. They lived across the street...


	2. Chapter 1 - Sentimental Foolishness

"I re-mem-bered a name this time." Drawing out each syllable, he was careful to pronounce his words correctly. His dry throat itched, making him growl as he spoke. With each draw of breath, the smell of old wood from her antique furniture tickled his nose. The need to cough was growing and he wouldn't be able to put it off for much longer. "She called me Parsi."

Even now, the tendrils of the dream felt vague, half-formed in his mind. It was almost an idea to him at this point, a fantasy he wanted to be real. If he hadn't dreamed the same sequence of events so many times, he would have dismissed it long ago. Sitting back in the recliner, he could only wonder if this new recollection was but wishful thinking.

Ansel tugged at the top of his hoodie. The comfort of its shadows helped conceal this uneasiness from his Doctor. It had the added bonus of shielding his eyes. Too much ruminating was making them hurt. There was only one light on in the office, the lamp across the room upon her desk. Yet, the fifteen watt brightness was enough to stirr up his sensitivity.

"Do you believe that's your name?" Despite the darkness of her office, there was no doubt Dr. Rossen was watching him carefully. She got this intent look in her perpetually squinting eyes that was magnified by her thick glasses when he spoke of recovered details. It didn't happen often any more.

Uncomfortable, Ansel stared at his hands where they rest in his lap. The itch in his throat spread to his nose and it started to burn. Unable to ignore it any longer, he reached up and carefully slid a finger under the edge of his face mask. Curious, he watched it through the clear plastic as he scratched at the nostril. The dim light was enough to make out the general shape, but no finer details.

Dr. Rossen hummed a soft note of amusement, then scratched out something with her pencil. "Were there any more details? Do you recall Ashay's face when she looked at you?"

He frowned for a moment. When Dr. Rossen, or anyone else, said her name, it sounded wrong. There wasn't much he could recall, but he knew, deep inside, that it was just he called her. Her real name was a complete mystery. That was part of what made this entire process pointless. He had been over this a million times in the past twenty-three years. No new details were ever enough. What good was knowing a pet name when he was the only person who used it?

Searching the world for an 'Ashay' when he couldn't even recall what she looked like was just a waste of time. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't tried, and failed, already. Every reference he found lead to men from India. He recalled scant few details, but he'd know if the girl pinned in his dream had a dick. Now, the color of her skin? He wished he knew that much.

If the appointment hadn't been scheduled a month ago, he wouldn't have come today. There were better things he could be doing with his day off. Certainly, there were things more destructive he could be doing than letting the woman with the knives at his brain again. Unfortunately, if he wanted to continue his treatments, he needed to meet all the requirements.

Their meetings never lasted long. The talking portion was a maintenance feature to ensure that his treatment plan was still working. He disliked spending more time here than he had to. Still, it was merely an annoyance that he had to deal with.

For her part, he wasn't even sure that any of this registered with the good doctor. She got paid to ask a few questions and to up his meds if he needed them. She was a licensed psychiatrist, not a therapist. There was no couch, she didn't care how mommy's touch made him feel. Dr. Rossen's only concern was to ensure that he could function in normal society with the right amount of necessary drugs.

Ansel smiled. He had no doubt she only asked about his dreams to ensure that he wasn't suffering from a psychotic break. It wasn't uncommon for patients of long-term therapies to develop a resistence or toxic reaction to the medicines they gave them. Many were still undergoing testing decades after they were first introduced. He wasn't on mood stabilizers or anti-psychotic medicine, but the seizure pills tended to have nasty side-effects in ten-to-twelve percent of users.

That wiped the smile off his face. He had been one of the lucky few on his last regiment. Which was why he got transfered from county to private by the insurance plan. Having a snake with a law degree for a grandfather helped from time to time.

"You're quiet today, Ansel. Is there something new you might wish to tell me?" That was Psychiatry speak for 'tell me what you're thinking about, or else.' 

After two decades in the system, he became fluent. That also meant he became very familiar with a vindictive psycho's idea of making him more 'responsive'. The tickle in his throat resurfaced with a creak when he opened his mouth. Clearing it, he growled a little.

Dr. Rosen waited patiently. She knew the problems he had with speaking when he was uncomfortable.

After another clearing, he felt ready to speak. "Musing. Nothing im-por-tant." Turning over his right wrist, he made a great show of checking his watch. He even tapped the face, despite it being digital. "I am bored. Would be busy by now." It wasn't a lie, exactly. The time was twenty-to-three. He would be getting up in about five minutes on a normal day. Which meant he would be tossing around on his futon, trying to get back to sleep for those last few precious minutes before the alarm went off.

Thankfully, she didn't call him on it. The wipe of her pen down the paper indicating she was marking something out. She usually did this when her doodles became too long and she had to take that page out of her session notes. That bit of information had been a remarkably refreshing moment of honesty.

That was one the reasons he tried harder to placate her. He didn't want to lie or make things up just to pass the time in their sessions. Despite his decades of experience, he actually liked their visits.

"All right. Then let's move on." She started on the next page, reading something at the top of it. "You were having tremors in your left hand last month. I prescribed an increase in your Primidone and calcium suppliments. Are you taking them as instructed?" So it was the lab results she was reading. The numbers had to be right there in front of her and she was testing him.

It was always testing with them. They never believed someone outright.

Sighing, he nodded. The last thing he needed was more oversight of his daily life. It was bad enough he checked in each week with a 'life councilor' at the county health offices. That was one of the negative side-effects of his grandfather's intervention. They were going to make sure he stayed healthy, no matter what. 

Dr. Rossen wrote something on the paper before closing her notes. But, she wasn't finished with him just yet. "Okay. And your cane, I noticed you brought it today. Are you having balance issues again?"

"No." To prove it, he met her gaze and shook his head vigerously. That little problem hadn't been one for more than three years; not since he took up dance at the rec center. Of course, the side-effect of that was thick legs and a big ass. "Took the seven bus from the green line." He croaked on the last word, wincing at the scratching vocal chords.

Her only response was to sigh. 

It was his life, he could risk it if he wanted to. The cane tip and handle were made of Tungsten Carbide, he was certain that he could defend himself.

Taking one last look at him, she paused on his face. More specifically, she focused on his mask. It was a bit of curiosity for her, but she made no comment.

That was good for the both of them. 

He didn't feel like explaining the need for it today, even though he didn't physically require it anymore. The last procedure had been ten months ago, and that was just to remove the final screw in his jaw. Dr. Sovias had confirmed that hole sealed up without any complications or need for more anti-biotics. In that regard, he was completely healthy.

Now, if his brain was fixed, but that was a question for another day.

"All right, Ansel, I believe everything is in order here. Your results are within stress limits and I am satisfied that your condition has not deteroirated." Sitting forwards, she put aside the tablet and pen. She would not stand to see him out, that wasn't her costum. It was her belief that it increased their confidence if they left on their own without her physically guiding them out.

Ansel couldn't say one way or the other about that. All he knew was that he was glad the session was over and he could go back to his apartment.

Nodding at her, he pushed up from the easy chair, stretching out his arms and back as he stood. His joints popped with each flex until he finished with a pleasured groan. The growl of his voice alarmed him slightly. His allergies were kicking up more. Coming to the Valley always did that to him. Something about the pollen count here didn't settle with him. He would need to pop some benadryl when he got on the bus. Of course, that meant sleeping most of the way home. The driver would wake him if he slipped him a twenty.

Plans set, he nodded at Dr. Rossen. He would get a call sometime tomorrow from her secretary for next month's interview. The letter reminding him would come two weeks later with lab dates to have his blood drawn. It wasn't a perfect system, but it kept him alive and living on his own. He waved over his shoulder on the way to the door. "Bye, Doc."

"Take care, Parsi."

For a moment, he kept walking. Then he realized what she had called him and paused. He sighed with a half-shrug. It hadn't sounded familiar at all. Throat straining, he whispered, "just a dream, I guess." It had happened before.

"Don't loose hope, Ansel. You're still young and the human brain is a remarkable mistake of evolution."

Parsi. It sounded Italian or maybe Spanish. Of course, he was fair skinned and honey haired. The left side of his face, the mostly undamaged side, gave him fine features. The button nose had been a crapshoot when they rebuilt, then, reattached it. It had taken fifteen years, but he had grown into that monstrocity. On the upside, it would never grow longer with age.

Shrugging again, Ansel continued on to the door, stopping only long enough to pick up his cane from the coat stand. He noticed her umbrella, but it was a short, extendable one that hung from the upper hooks. The familiar weight of the cane rest in his palm as he tapped the tip against the tile floor. Tapping a toe, he gently kicked the cane before grabbing the door.

~~~

Ansel checked his sunglasses for dust and scratches. They were wrap arounds to keep out even the most tenacious of beams. He was happy to note that an hour in his jacket hadn't scratched the lenses and clipped them on. 

Next came a quick glance in the mirror. The mask covered the entire upper half of his face. Clear but for the glasses, it wasn't meant to hide him so much as hold his face together. After the last procedure to remove the plate in his forehead, there had been some fears. It had held the bone together for nearly ten years; ever since he had stopped growing. Until then, he'd been sculpted so many times from fear of losing his eyes, he'd changed ethnicities.

They needn't have worried. His face held and the follow up session with Dr. Jansen had minimized the scars. He only looked mildly like Dr. Frankestein's monster. At least he had pretty, pouty lips; probably the only thing original left of his face.

Well, that and his dark gray eyes. Not that he could see them through the obsidian of his sunglasses. He wasn't sure if that was just a brand or if they were actually made from volcanic glass. The thing was, they were prescription because he needed them and that was what mattered. Why? Trying to stop a car with his face had been a real mother fucker.

That just left his beanie and hoodie. Hey, if he was going to look like an out of touch douche because of his cool facial gear, he might as well fillout the part. Tugging on the beanie, he adjusted until it rest over the top half of his ears. His bangs hung out in a lightbrown, almost bronze fringe, just to reinforce the image. Last to do was pull up his hoodie and hide the entire fucking mess.

Everything in place, he stepped back from the mirror and checked himself over. Sleeves pushed halfway up, check. His gray tee hung loose around the waist, tight around the chest. It fell loose over his big ass, which was fine with him. Last thing he needed was some bitch making insuations on the bus, causing trouble for both of them.

"Are you done?"

He nodded, adjusting his beanie a little more. It never seemed to rest quite right. That was probably the straps. If he hadn't shaved most of his head, there would be clear lines in his hair for them. "I'm ready."

Mara didn't need to be told twice. Eyes closed, she flipped the light switch and brought the overheads on. "I swear, it takes you longer every time. I do have work I could be doing while you're primping over there." Her southern accent was out of place here and seemed to grow thicker every visit.

Ansel was almost certain she was a local girl. It wasn't worth the effort to find out, though. So, chose to ignore the insult. "Are there any scripts she has for me?"

Spinning in her chair, Mara tapped the mouse and pulled out the keyboard. She stared intently at the screen, absently sucking in her lower lip. On a younger girl, it would have been enticing. But, Mara had reached the age of collagen injections and made it look like she was sucking on a fat, red beetle larva.

One of the side effects of living in the city of eternal youth, women graduated from college to insecurity. Not that they were alone. He had met more than his fairshare of botoxed and tucked former teen idols. That came with spending any amount of time in plastic surgeons' offices.

"Nope." Pursing her over-pumped lips, she smiled at the screen, then up at him. "You're just fine, sugar!" Then she seemed to catch something in her eyes and had to blink it out.

He bared his teeth in the parody of a smile. "I'll see you next time." Pointing at her with one hand, he snatched the cane off her desk with the other. "Keep it real."

The smile on her face dimmed a little as she nodded.

That was the last he caught out of the corner of his eye on the way out.


End file.
